


burn, baby, burn.

by alaynestone



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynestone/pseuds/alaynestone
Summary: "The Devil, until an hour before he fell, even God thought him beautiful in Heaven."- Arthur Miller.(basically: a 707/mc undercover detective au)





	

**Author's Note:**

> angst and hurt with seven/mc because detached!seven was hot. just go with it.
> 
> (edited: retitled because i don't want associations with the play lol)

**i. hothouse flower**

You’re reviewing the case file on your hotel room bed when you hear the door open.

You don’t need to look up to figure out who it is. You know the sound of his footsteps well enough.

_Seven._

He parks himself at the foot of the bed and only then do you look up.

“Hi,” you say with mock friendliness.

He has his arms folded across his chest and he’s watching you, annoyance painted all over his features. “What are you doing here?”

You don't even bother asking how he managed to let himself in. He's Seven, after all, and you know better than to ask.

“We _are_ partners, you know, and normally where one half of the team goes, the other follows,” you tell him derisively as you put the stack of paper away at the bedside table.

You take a moment to inspect him. It looks like he’s just flown in: he has a suitcase in hand, a backpack slung across his shoulders and bed hair that looked only slightly more awful than usual.

It’s been two months since you’ve spoken. You haven’t seen him since you walked out of his apartment in the middle of _that_ argument, the worst one you’ve ever had. Two months of separation and you find that the rage hasn’t completely dissipated.

“I asked to go solo months ago.”

You shrug innocently, looking up at him with doe eyes as if you hadn’t intercepted his request file. “Looks like V didn’t get the memo.”

He takes a step towards you and his presence, at this proximity, is all that’s necessary for your pulse to start racing. You’re aware of the distance between your skin and his, of the depth of his breathing, of the pregnant silence that’s threatening to swallow the two of you whole.

“Don’t make this difficult for the two of us,” he mutters, breaking the trance, his voice all ice.

You look him in the eye. “Who says I’m having a difficult time?”

He stares at you for a moment and sighs. “Meet me at my room in an hour so we can decide on what to do. Let me get settled first. Make sure you read the file as thoroughly as possible,” is all he says before he exits the room.

You're filled with a feeling of triumph but it doesn't really help when what you really want to do is scream into your pillow in frustration because your partner is _still_ acting like an asshole.

&

The two of you _had_ been good together as partners, for what it’s worth. The best, really.

You met each other at training camp and there you got along like a house on fire. Your shared brand of humor would be at the top of the list of why you were immediately drawn to each other. The friendly competition between the two of you would be a close second. You two would ace training, would prove yourselves competent as floaters post-graduation, and would attract the attention of senior officers almost immediately.

It only seemed natural he’d choose to partner with you, of course, when the two of you were drafted into the undercover squad (both your first choice). It’s a little intimidating at first, being among the elite members of the force: the pressure was skyhigh and the older guys don’t go easy on you newcomers. But with the two of you having each other’s back it’s not as horrible as it could have been.

You impressed the Chief from your very first solve and gaining the respect of the other D's came pretty easily afterwards.

It’s not that hard to point out where things went awry as you could, in fact, point out the exact moment in time where it did. And while yes, you could have controlled the impact a little, lessen the collateral damage, you opted not to.

You’re not regretful, though. No, it would probably be more accurate to say that you’re absolutely furious.

 &

When you find his room, you opt to knock because unlike _some_ people, you still have some decency left in you.

He opens the door seconds later and when he looks down at you, he looks displeased but lets you in. The room is exactly the same as yours but while yours is bare all over, his desk has his laptop on it and a stack of folders beside it.  You sit down on the couch.

“Did you find anything else on the organization. Mint Eye, was it? I tried running it on the system but nothing showed up,” you tell him.

“It _does_ look like the religious cover is only a front for something, but I’m not sure if it's to cover up a drug laboratory as the tip said.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck now, a gesture he makes when he’s agitated and one whose very familiarity makes you _ache_.

You look away.

“I was able to trace an e-mail conversation between Mint Eye and a—“ he makes air quotes here “—‘follower’.  It’s all very formal and they keep talking about an everlasting party, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The exchange finished when they agreed to meet up. That was two days ago. There's many more of pretty much the same conversation. It's super weird.”

The word choice almost makes you smile.  _Super_  isn't part of the detective vocabulary and the older UC squad members would have an aneurysm over it.

“The file located the headquarters, right? It’s not far from here at all," you contribute. "I can go in pretending to, like, convert or something. We can send an e-mail that sounds like the others sent in. You can request back-up and get me wired—”

“No,” he says, turning around, infuriatingly calm but there's a glint to his eyes that suggest something close to anger. "It's too dangerous. If ever, I should be the one to go in.

“No offense but you're not exactly inconspicuous right now, with the hair and all. And thanks for worrying but I’ll be fine."

He grimaces. “It’s not that— it’s more that I can't afford a liability in any of my cases.”

Ouch. That stung. You take a deep breath before soldiering on. “I’m not here to screw up things for you, Luciel. Why is that so hard you to believe? I’m your _partner_ , damn it.”

“We can’t afford to be reckless with this one. We have minimal information. Who knows what’s in there?” His voice remains level.

“That’s what I’m going to find out!” Always the first one to lose calm. “Don’t treat me like a child. I’m as good a detective as you are and you know it.”

"I never said you weren't," he admits quietly and you're at a loss on how to take that. Forever one step forward and ten steps backwards with the two of you, no?

“When did you start hating me?” you ask him as you frown at his half-unpacked suitcase on the floor.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, sounding quite surprised at the accusation.

“No? But we used to be so close,” you say.  “We worked amazingly together. Now you're acting like my very existence offends you. What happened? Is it because my _feelings_ make you uncomfortable?”

"I can't work with you when you're being emotional."

"Because honestly, if that's the case, we can just pretend that _it_ never happened."

“It’s never going to be that easy. In this line of work, we can’t afford risks like this one. You know that,” he says monotonously as if reciting from the squad manual.

“It could be,” you say and you want to _shake_ him. _It’s me! Your best friend! Your partner!_

"It's never going back to the way things were," he tells you, shaking his head. "Maybe it's time for you to accept that. And stop interfering with my request forms."

You look down at your shoes. "Send me in. I'll prove to you that you don't need to worry about me, emotionally or in terms of competency"

He rests his eyeglasses on top of his head, rubs at his face and for the first time tonight you notice how tired he actually looks. "Okay," he says. "I'll ask V for back-up and for the tech team tomorrow."

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you say, surprised that he'd agreed so fast.

Seven opens the door to the hallway and it’s only then he meets your eyes. “You should probably get some rest now.”

 

**ii. crucible**

It  _was_ him who had decided that the two of them can't work together anymore.

An admission: he has been attracted to her from the moment they met at training camp years ago. Hard not to. Hell, he even entertained the thought of them together as a couple a number of times. The window of opportunity for that would be brief, thankfully, as they were soon accepted into the undercover squad.

Feelings aren't something he knows how to deal with, but rules are something he can abide by.

When the moment of her confession came, he placated her with a smile.  _It would be breach of protocol_ , he said.  _We'd be better off as friends._

She called bullshit on that. She wouldn't be wrong.

But for matters of convenience he had to stand his ground and, well, the worst fight they've ever had erupted in his apartment living room.

That was two months ago. He should have known that she would, somehow, get in the way of his request. She never was the type to give up easily, to give  _him_ up easily, after all. He doesn't know if that's a good thing. He never does, with her. It's nearly driven him off the edge.

& 

It is her second night inside the Mint Eye headquarters and he's barely had any sleep at all.

"Maybe you should get some rest," the younger floater V sent him suggests.

Seven considers this but shakes his head. "Get me more Ph.D. Pepper," he tells him instead.

The floater-- Yoosung, was it?-- looks offended but proceeds to the minibar and hands him a can.

"You two get some rest for now." He nods towards the female floater. "I'll keep watch until midnight. You two can take over then. Copy?"

They agree, not that they have any choice, before slinking off to their respective rooms.

&

The feed has mostly been quiet since she entered the HQ. Nothing suspicious, so far. Is it possible that whoever gave the tip had it wrong?

The feed suddenly stops, is suddenly all static, and Seven tenses up. His phone rings. It's her.

"Hello?" he greets tentatively.

"It's me," she whispers. He can hear the shower running, he thinks. "I turned the mic off. I'm in the shower. It's the only place I can get any semblance of privacy over here."

 _Oh._ He tries to imagine other things and clears his throat. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, everything feels off but nothing really telling, you know? I think everyone's keeping an eye on me. The leader and her assistant particularly seem suspicious of me."

"That's a given. Keep us posted."

A pause and he wonders if she's all right but she speaks just before he opens his mouth.

"I miss you."

Ah.

"We just saw each other two days ago. Remember? I dropped you off over there."

"Don't be a smart-ass," she chides him. "That's not what I meant."

He sighs. Maybe it's the danger she's in right now, or maybe it's exhaustion of the last few days, of the last few  _months_ but he gives in. To her, to his basic instinct, to himself. "I miss you, too," he replies finally.

"So, what now?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know," he says and rubs at his temple. This conversation sounds like the most normal, most _them_ one they've had in a while, since the confession, the fight. "What do you want from me?"

She sounds tired as well. "I... I guess I just want you to be honest with me. Tell me I wasn't imagining stuff between the two of us. That my confession wasn't completely unwarranted. I want you to let me in."

He laughs mirthlessly. "You're not going to like what you find."

"Maybe you can let me be the judge of that."

Another pause. There's a knock at his door and his eyes dart to the clock. It's midnight.

"Listen, I have to go. Let's talk about this when you get back, okay? Put your mic back on as soon as you're done with your shower. Good night."

"Will do. 'Night."

She hangs up on him and he wonders how, exactly, the process of salvaging a friendship works.

 

**iii. hell**

The floaters wake him up at 5 o'clock in the morning the next day.

"Sir, the feed's gone off," they say with panic.

He practically jumps out of bed, check the settings for any errors, find none and-- _shit_. That means that the mic is turned off.

He checks his phone. No messages from her. He tries calling, only to find that the number is unreachable.  _Fuck._

"We'll have to go in," he announces to the floaters grimly and he sends a quick message to the Chief, asking for reinforcement at the location.

He checks his things, makes sure his gun is loaded, before he drives them up to the location. It's still dark outside and the manor was well-lit, giving it a faint but eerie glow amidst the darkness.

He steps out of the car and surveys the surrounding before signalling the floaters to move out.

 _Everything will be fine_ , he tells himself despite the dread that fills him up to the tips of his toes.

He's here.

She's here.

Surely everything will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> mostly wrote this because i'm also very obsessed with tana french's dublin murder squad books and i wanna be a detective but i stand at a pathetic 5 feet 1. height discrimination is a 100% true thing innit.
> 
> will probably delete bec idk if i like this. let me know what you think, anyway.


End file.
